Pale Hands
by pigeons
Summary: It was only as they dropped the rope ladder down into the well that Kazuya collapsed onto Hiroshi's shoulder, in tears. Takeshi covered his mouth and nose with still-rickety hands, tears already spilling. The hazel-eyed-girl watched with glazed eyes, mousy hair tangled around her face. HiroshixKazuya, Ao Oni 1.1


I drabbled a bit in Ao Oni ver. 1.1.

* * *

"Kazuya?" Hiroshi was calling.

He knew they shouldn't have come to the mansion. He knew going there with Takuro was a bad idea. Takuro and his… gang, posse, for lack of a better word.

The bitter hand of guilt closed its fingers around Hiroshi's throat. He could hardly breathe. Kazuya was in danger. Horrible danger from a terrible, fearsome being. He asked himself where Kazuya might be had Hiroshi not existed. Probably at home, drinking green tea and reading a book. Probably brushing his hair, talking on the phone. A thousand clips flashed through Hiroshi's mind; Kazuya… Kazuya…

They'd been separated, so soon after they'd entered the mansion. Hiroshi had only left for an instant, and... when he'd come back, they'd all been gone. He half-predicted that Takuro would do that anyways, but when he'd come back to see his best friend missing too, he knew something was wrong.

Hiroshi had then entered the bathroom in a numb fear—the only fear he had previously known. The fear of bees, bullies or poison-ivy. Mostly bullies. It was edginess that erred on cautiousness—but as a studious person, Hiroshi had curiosity. And that got the better of him. A silver chain hung over the side of the porcelain white tub, a murky and dark liquid sitting stagnant, nearly filling the whole thing. Hiroshi had never seen anything like it; so opaque he could nearly see his reflection, yet it looked thin and watery. The silver chain dangled temptingly towards him, and as a scientist… he could not refuse such an eloquent silence.

He gripped it, and it felt cold in his hand. It was colder and heavier than anything he'd ever held, but he pulled, and the drain came free easily. He wished it didn't. Heart pounding, he observed the corpse with a novel horror in his mind. This simply… could not happen. Hiroshi barely even knew his name. Ryota… was it? It was then that the danger set itself in his heart.

Then that thing had appeared, in the library… a bubbling, purple and blackish-blue mass had surged up from the walls and in the floorboards and formed into a horrible creature with bulging eyes, a twisted grin; Its shapeless and formless body vaporized from thin air, and it rushed at him all at once. It was the single most intimidating thing he'd ever seen, and he _ran. _He ran as fast and as hard as he could, until tears slipped from his eyes and his heart sputtered and his hair was mussed, blood pumping and reminding him that he was _alive,_ he was _a target._ It was then that Hiroshi knew they had to get out of there. It was then that he knew Kazuya was in real danger.

"K-Kazuya!" He called a bit louder now. The mansion was a strange, detached kind of cold. It made him shiver so sharply you could feel his bones rattle. The place was so quiet he could hear the blood pounding though his ears.

He imagined Kazuya safe in his arms—he imagined the bright eyes and the thin silvery hair running through his fingers. He imagined the soft skin of Kazuya's hands—these things were what kept him going. He stumbled on, trying not to make too much noise. He only dared cry out every so often, when he was sure he could not hear the footfalls or the strange, lilted heartbeat of the beast. Could it even be called a beast? Would it be an experiment… an alien… a hallucination?

In the library, he'd retrieved the bedroom key before he'd ran. It was locked tightly in his palm, digging in with sharp metal edges. He thought he might be going into shock, but he didn't care. Kazuya's safety… was first! His palm started to bleed before he relaxed his muscles enough to use the key on the upstairs bedroom door.

Inside, there was the girl. The girl who always stood by Takuro's right side, his left, behind him. She had a sweet face, but nearly hung off of the red-head and that had always made Hiroshi reluctant to befriend her. Her face hadn't been that attractive to him, in the first place, and now the expressions ranged only from shock and fear to anger, and worry. The sarcastic smile and romantic gaze were wiped from her hazel eyes and olive face. "Close the door!" She had shouted.

He tried to get her to come with him, to help look for the others, but she stubbornly refused, adamantly believing her knight would come and save her. Takuro, in Hiroshi's eyes, was a bully and a coward, but anything that would make her happy. He wouldn't care. He just had to find Kazuya, and perhaps the semi-tolerable Takeshi. He didn't think anyone deserved Ryota's fate or similar, anyways.

He slunk around the mansion, trying to get a grip on himself. It seemed too bright in there; fluorescent lights glaring on the drop-ceiling and casting an unfitting yellow glow unto everything.

There were more encounters with the demon, yes. He screamed, once or twice, at the appearance of the hulking monster. It was twice as tall as he, three times heavier—it's colossal head brushed the ceiling unless it leaned down to run quickly—to chase him. It looked to Hiroshi (as per his studies) as if it wasn't really trying. That in and of itself was frightening—it was playing cat and mouse with him. Frightening and playing with its prey before killing it cruelly.

It was later that Hiro found the ringleader himself; Takuro looked scared. It was more scared, at least, than Hiroshi had ever seen him, and that was enough for the black-haired boy. They'd been in the mansion for hours—no windows in sight. No unlocked doors. No clocks—however, Takuro's cell phone read to say they'd been there for nearly five and a half hours. Hiroshi's blood boiled hotter in that freezing hallway; Kazuya hadn't been seen since they split up. He half-wondered if there was another bathroom somewhere, another bathtub filled with an inky liquid and a heavy silver chain. A chain that matched the silver hair, sparked as cleanly and brightly as the round, happy eyes—he stopped himself. He was sure he'd throw up if he continued.

"There's a girl upstairs." Hiroshi's throat was dry.

"Who is it?" Takuro spat out a name… yes, the one of that girl. Hiroshi nodded.

"Take the bedroom key." Hiroshi had bled on it a little. The puncture wounds in his palm burned, and his mind buzzed with adrenaline, sleeplessness, fear, panic.

Takuro had barely made it out of the door and into the adjacent hallway before there was a scream. It was Takuro's scream. It burned into Hiroshi's mind. A blood-curdling sound, an adolescent voice. It cracked at the end—there was a loud thump, a sickening _CRACK_ as Takuro was thrown violently against the wall_._ It was a bone breaking, muscle snapping, skin splitting, blood spilling sound. Another scream, trailing quieter and choking, gurgling. Rasping breaths.

A monster's heartbeat.

Hiroshi dashed out; something came over him and he thought, for a moment, that he could save Takuro. It proved to be foolish. The redhead's spine was twisted and broken. His neck bent at an awkward angle. Blood poured from his mouth. His arms dangled at angles they shouldn't have been able to. Takuro was already dead.

The blue demon stood over him. It turned, so very quickly, toward Hiroshi, immediately lunging for him. Hiroshi ducked under the demon's arm—something he wondered if Takuro's spirit had gifted him with—and grabbed the bedroom key from the hand of the still-warm corpse. The glazed-over eyes made Hiroshi sick. He wished Takuro had been his friend.

He was running again, down the hall and up the stairs, followed too-closely by the purple and massive, featureless creature. Its hulking form lumbered after him and he only thought about Kazuya. How much he wanted Kazuya to be alive. He didn't want to see the tip of his pointed nose sticking out from murky ink-water, he didn't want to snatch a key from the warm, soft hands of his dead best friend.

Hiroshi burst into the room of the hazel-eyed-girl. He couldn't remember her name, still, but that didn't matter now. He quickly pushed something heavy in front of the door. "We have to leave now." He gasped the words out too quietly, but fear and urgency in his voice motivated her to grab his hand.

He waited a few minutes, sure his bloody palm would bother her, but he stuck his head out the doorway and decided the coast was clear enough. Hiroshi and the hazel-eyed-girl made their way toward the basement—something he'd discovered while slinking around the mansion. It had stuffier air, darker halls, more claustrophobic atmosphere—when he'd been down there, he'd almost wanted to go back up.

They descended the first flight of stairs, to the main floor. Down the center hallway…

A silhouette jumped in front of them.

A white shape, a tan and tallow and thin, rickety silhouette. Teary blue eyes snapped to meet Hiroshi's—he had never been so thankful to see such eyes before. The silhouette was of Takeshi, a stranger before now welcomed to cling to the mousy-haired girl's other hand. All three of the kids were shaking.

The main hallway stretched between them and the exit; the hallway, one flight of stairs, then the home stretch. Beyond that, he hoped the stars were out.

Only a step into the hall, and a rumbling growl, a groan—a howl! Whispers, even. The monster hadn't taken long to find them again, and they took off running. She grasped his hand so tightly he didn't think he could get her away if he tried. But he didn't try, of course. He didn't want any more… casualties.

He burst through the door to the stairwell. Beyond that door what greeted him was a dream. You could have told him it was a dream, and he'd agree.

There stood Kazuya.

His hair was mussed, his eyes wide. Dark circles rimmed beneath them. Kazuya nursed a cut on his left cheek; if nursed at all, really. It bled freely down his chin. The blood had dried and half-cracked off his face; the initial cut had started to scab. The knees of his pants were ripped, and his jacket buttons had come undone until the third.

Hiroshi nearly sobbed with relief. His Kazuya—the child he'd spend his days with on the playground, the person he'd protected and played with and rocked back and forth when they cried together over small little things—was safe.

The bright eyes were now brimmed with caution and fear and—"Hiroshi!" Kazuya's high voice cut through the panicked air.

"Kazuya! Come on, t-the monster—it will be here at any moment!"

Hiroshi surged forward, seizing Kazuya's soft, pale hand like it was the thing that could save them both from this nightmare.

He almost forgot about the hazel-eyed-girl and Takeshi. Her hand was clenched in his the same way the key had been—to take pressure out. He held both of them tightly, clinging to them as much as they were clinging to him. Takeshi's hands were both clasped around the wrist of the girl; he shook nearly violently and urged the others to move down quickly—into the basement.

At the end of that dark hall was the rope ladder—never before had Hiroshi been so grateful for a simple thing like such.

It was only as they dropped the rope ladder down into the well that Kazuya collapsed onto Hiroshi's shoulder, in tears. Takeshi covered his mouth and nose with still-rickety hands, tears already spilling. The hazel-eyed-girl watched with glazed eyes, mousy hair tangled around her face.

* * *

It was three-thirty AM one July night when Kazuya had the first nightmare.

It was of a horrible purple creature with bulging eyes and talons and fangs and porous skin and hideous boils and welts, dripping, oozing and bubbling into an abomination. Kazuya could hardly contain himself.

Hiroshi knew this would happen. He'd been staying with Kazuya since they'd escaped the mansion. He didn't think he'd ever tell anyone about what happened that day. He'd seen horrible deaths and gruesome violence; monsters, pain and suffering— and he'd suffered on his own, too. Kazuya had told him he'd slept for a while in that place—in a locked room, safe from the demon. He hadn't seen Ryota's blotchy black-purple face and sunken eyes and he hadn't seen Takuro's mangled body, but he'd seen enough to have the nightmares. Hiroshi didn't blame him at all.

They'd stayed in contact with the others from the mansion—Takeshi seemed to want to forget it altogether. He and Megumi (whose name Hiroshi now remembered). They'd lost some people that were important to them. Ryota, their close friend, and Takuro, their leader. Hiroshi had learned that Megumi had been his girlfriend—but Takeshi had been nursing unrequited affections for the redhead for a long time. He'd let his feeling simmer… an unwise choice. Hiroshi had no real memories of Takuro other than _SNAP, SNAP THUMP _and the sight of a mangled, bloodied corpse.

His breath was uncomfortably hot as Kazuya clung to him. Tears were creeping out of the corners of his eyes, and Hiroshi was kissing each one away. Kazuya's pale fingers wound up his neck to tangle in the black hair, and the smaller boy's head was now nestled in Hiroshi's collarbone. Hiroshi swayed back and forth, arms wrapped around Kazuya's waist.

"Ssh… A nightmare?" Hiroshi inquired. He already knew the answer.

Kazuya tried to answer, but a few rapid gasps later he gave up and only wept quietly into Hiroshi's shoulder.

"It's alright. Kazu, we're never going back there. It's alright."

He laid back down, pulling Kazuya with him. Their legs tangled together, socked feet and bare feet meeting as Kazu's breaths deepened. Soon Hiroshi's soft stroking of his hair and whispers slipped into his ear had Kazuya sleeping again, a gaunt, tired face turned slightly into the pillow.

Hiroshi smiled, and kissed Kazuya's cheek before settling further into the mattress and letting out a sigh. He slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Alt. Title: FUCK YOU TAKESHI CAN LIVE IF I WANT HIM TO.

whatever

some drabble this is, right


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